


Just Another Day In Paradise

by butterflybaby91



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: All my ships, Blush - Freeform, F/M, I apologize this is quite fluff fluff alkdjf, Literally just cuddles and lazy days and friends, M/M, Multi, Some swearing and alluding to inappropriateness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybaby91/pseuds/butterflybaby91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Saturday, how does everyone spend it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day In Paradise

_6:30 am_

He always wakes up the earliest out of all of his friends. Most of them think he is insane. Even Enjolras lately has given Combeferre strange looks when he alludes to the fact that he wakes up before seven on Saturday mornings. Combeferre had just kindly reminded Enjolras, that he too, used to wake up extraordinarily early, before he had two other sets of limbs and warm bodies’ entangled around him and his bed sheets. At that reminder, Enjolras had blushed and let the subject drop. Combeferre is happy that his friends are all happy in their relationships, but he is perfectly happy on his own. He _loves_ Saturdays. His Saturday’s are for reading. He read every day, but Sunday through Friday is reserved for school related reading. Saturdays though; Saturdays are for personal reading. Combeferre would wake up and make a cup of tea before he curled up on the couch with whatever novel he was currently trudging through. This week it is East of Eden. The paperback book sits on his coffee table dog-eared page marking where he left off last Saturday. Switching his cup of tea for the book, Combeferre opens it and begins reading again:

 _"And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human_  
is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the  
freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected."

_8:00 am_

He sighs as his phone alarm starts going off, reminding him that it is time to get out of bed and face the mountain of homework leering at him from his desk. Enjolras reaches out and quickly turns off the alarm before it can wake Eponine or Grantaire, both of whom are still soundly snoring off to the side of the bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, with Grantaire’s hand reaching over Eponine and clutching at Enjolras’ waist and one of Eponine’s hands tangled in Enjolras’ hair. He watches them fondly for a few minutes, reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed, but he knows they will not be up for hours.

Disentangling himself from their grasping hands, he slowly slides out of bed, wincing as his bare feet make contact with the cold floor. As their hands become empty, Grantaire and Eponine find new purchase clutching at each other. Eponine curls up into Grantaire’s chest even more and wraps her hands around his neck. Grantaire grumbles something unintelligible and drapes his now free hand around Eponine’s waist. Watching them recompensate for the loss of their boyfriend makes Enjolras want to dive back into bed with them—if he had less self control he would be back in their warm tangle of limbs in an instant, but as it is, he flips opens his laptop and opens up the paper he had been working on the night before, but had abandoned abruptly when Eponine and Grantaire had come up on either side of him and insisted he join them in bed. Enjolras smiled warmly at the memory and briefly wished they would wake up so it could be reenacted. As those thoughts filtered through his mind, Enjolras groans and throws another glance toward his slumbering lovers—it is going to be a long morning.

 

_9:00 am_

For someone who drank so much the night before Bahorel sure liked to wake up early. And wake up with a bang. Feuilly groans as he hears his roommate start playing his drums in the other room. Falling out of Bahorel’s bed, Feuilly makes his way into the living room, eyes shooting daggers as he beholds Bahorel happily crashing the cymbal dramatically and showing off for an imaginary crowd as Feuilly enters the room, “Its fucking 9 am on _Saturday._ It is the one day of the week I can sleep in; can you not at least give me that,” Feuilly fumes walking over and smacking Bahorel on the back of the head—which was a bad idea.

Like he had just poked a bear, Bahorel rears up from his seat, grabbing Feuilly’s wrists and pinning him to the wall behind him, arms held above his head. He grins down at Feuilly as the smaller man squirms and tries to pull away, “Well, since we’re both up now,” he smirks, “might as well make good use of our early morning.” And with saying that, Bahorel leans down and grazes his teeth along Feuilly’s throat, silencing his noise complaints.

 

_9:30 am_

Marius had woken up marginally before Cosette and had wandered into the kitchen to make coffee. As he was leaning against the counter waiting for it to be done, Cosette trudges into the kitchen and hoists herself up on the counter, where she maneuvered so that she was sitting behind Marius with a leg on either side of his torso, “Good morning,” she croons, kissing his head and nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder.

“Morning,” he murmurs, not quite as ready as Cosette to be cheery—at least not until he had caffeine in his system. With the chime of the coffee machine, he lunges forward, grabbing the pot a little too viciously as he pours the steaming liquid into his waiting mug. Cosette laughs at him as she hops off the counter and starts getting her breakfast.

 

_9:45 am_

Feuilly falls off of Bahorel, where he had been straddling the other man’s hips, with a loud groan, his chest heaving, trying to regain his breath. Bahorel is in pretty much the same position as he lies beside him, both of them shirtless and pant-less, sweat gleaming over their spent bodies. After a minute Bahorel begins to chuckle. When he does not stop, Feuilly reaches out a leg and kicks him in the shin, “Hey!” he yelps rolling to lean over his roommate, “What was that for?”

Feuilly’s eyes narrow as he looks at him. They have only recently begun doing this, whatever this is, and as much as he enjoys it, it confuses Feuilly, and he has been taking it out on Bahorel by being more aggressive than usual. Not that Bahorel really minds—he is already reaching out and pinching the inside of Feuilly’s bare thigh, causing him to let out a yelp of his own. “There,” Bahorel insists, “Now we’re even.” Feuilly just glares as Bahorel’s lips curve into a cheesy grin, “Come on now,” he says, voice more gentle, “Don’t be mad.”

Bahorel grabs Feuilly’s hands in his, hard, and forces them up on either side of his head, while he looks him in the eye—which for Bahorel was probably a display of affection, even though it came across as a show of brute strength. Feuilly huffs, “I’m not _mad_ ,” he relents, not meeting Bahorel’s eye.

“Then what’s wrong?” Bahorel frowns, pulling back a little to study Feuilly from a distance. Feuilly just shakes his head and bites his lip. Bahorel suddenly looks comprehending, “Is it this?” he guess, dipping his head to gesture to the way they are laying. When Feuilly still does not look at him and does not respond, Bahorel lets him go and rolls away, “Hey,” he says, now not meeting Feuilly’s gaze either, “We can stop—I’m sorry if you didn’t want this—I thought you did,” and he climbs out of his bed and stalks into the living room without another word. Feuilly does not understand why he suddenly feels empty and alone, so he just turns his head to the wall and stares blankly into space.

 

_10:00 am_

What had started out as a blanket fort on Friday night had turned into a blanket mountain pile on Saturday morning. Jehan blinks, confused by the fact that there is soft fabric covering his face and all he can feel with his hands is more softness. He tries to stretch, free his arms, and push the offending fabric out of his face, but he is stopped by the soft hands that are wrapped tightly around him. Eventually managing to wriggle his head free, Jehan looks up into Courfeyrac’s sleeping face and smiles. He then sees how they are _covered_ by half a dozen blankets and the bare skeleton of their collapsed fort surrounds their little nest, in the form of strategically placed chairs. Jehan thinks that it is perfect. Sighing in happiness at his peaceful surroundings, Jehan nuzzles his face into his boyfriend’s chest and goes back to sleep.

 

_10:30 am_

After they have both finished breakfast, Marius and Cosette remain at the table, as Marius reads the paper he stepped out to retrieve earlier, and Cosette plays a game on her iPad. They do not talk, but eventually their hands reach across the table and find each other’s. Finally, Cosette looks up, looks around the room, looks pointedly at Marius, who steadily ignores her, and huffs in frustration. He finally looks up startled, “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks hurriedly.

Cosette laughs lightly and then mockingly glares at Marius, “I’m bored,” she whines, “Stop reading the paper and let’s go do something.”

He obligingly lowers the paper and takes both of her hands in his, “What do you want to do?” he asks smiling happily at her. Really, he could just sit there and stare at her all day, or talk to her, or just be next to her and he would not care—it would still be a great day, but he knows Cosette is more like a bird who is always yearning to fly somewhere, so he does not care what they do in their free time as long as she lets him fly alongside her.

Cosette is standing and already walking quickly to the bedroom before she answers, “Let’s go for a walk in the park!” Marius frowns slightly at her suggestion and begins to say something about how it is cold, but one look at her excited face and he holds his tongue. As they make their way out into the street fifteen minutes later, he does not even notice the cold, after Cosette slips her arm in his and snuggles into his side even while they walk.

 

_11:00 am_

Joly and Bossuet are awake, sitting on the couch, pouring over textbooks with the television softly playing in the background. They are uncharacteristically sitting with space between them as usually Musichetta, who would wake when her boys departed from the bed, but not quite ready to be up, she would curl up between them on the couch. They had been up for a half an hour before she comes crawling out of the bedroom, hair fluffing crazily around her head, fluffy bathroom thrown hastily over her pajamas, and eyes half closed. She wedges herself between Joly and Bossuet groaning and muttering about “Stupid boys that wake up at ungodly hours.” Her head ends up on Joly shoulder and her feet push their way into Bossuet’s lap coming between his book and his thigh. The boys squish closer together forming a Musichetta sandwich. Within minutes she is asleep once again. Bossuet smiles over her at Joly as they take turns lovingly stroking their girlfriend’s hair.

_11:30 am_

Eponine wakes up first. Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras sees her sitting up in bed and pulling away from Grantaire, who turns toward the wall and throws an arm over his face. “Good morning,” Enjolras calls lightly, without really turning to look at her.

It takes a few moments before she answers, but once she does, she seems to be much more awake, as Eponine croons, “Morning Enj,” in a sing-song voice as she lunges out of bed and pushes her way into his chair, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso like a sloth. He feels her lips pressing into the back of his neck, so he puts down his highlighter and turns slightly so she can scramble onto his lap. Once she is settled, with his arms firmly holding her in place, she leans up and kisses him. Pulling away after a second, she slyly looks to where Grantaire is forlornly curled up in the corner of the bed and says, “He’s looks so cute and peaceful—let’s wake him up!”

Enjolras laughs and swings her up in his arms to deposit her back on the bed she just vacated, following after her. They both jump on Grantaire, who groans and tries desperately to push them away, “Go ‘way,” he complains, but they just laugh and start shaking him until he opens his eyes. Grantaire tries to look mad, but his frown dissolves into a contented smile as both of his lovers wrap their arms around him, “Morning,” he acquiesces and gives Enjolras and Eponine both a kiss, before he starts trying to scoot off the bed, “Let me up,” he insists, “You woke me up, now I need coffee.”

 

_12:00 pm_

When Jehan wakes the second time it is to find Courfeyrac gently prying himself out of Jehan’s arms and trying to escape the confines of their collapsed fort. Jehan whimpers as his boyfriend withdrawals from his grasp. Courfeyrac leans down and gently lays a kiss on Jehan’s forehead, “Go back to sleep—I’ll be right back,” he says as he skips off down the hall.

Returning several minutes later, he slides back into the blanket heap and pulls a still very much awake Jehan on top of him. “Good morning,” Jehan mumbles breathing into Courfeyrac’s ear causing him to shiver.

“Good morning yourself,” he replies as he squeezes Jehan closer to him. Courfeyrac gently runs his hands up and down Jehan’s back for a while, before they start to slip lower.

 “Courf,” Jehan keens as Courfeyrac’s lips find his.

“Hmm,” Courfeyrac hums against his lips and Jehan’s hands slip up into the t-shirt Courfeyrac is wearing, leaning back slightly to give him room to push it up and over the boy’s head and Courfeyrac’s arms lift over his head to help the process along. Pretty soon, all their clothes are discarded in a circle around their blanket pile and their hands continue their explorations and they are both very much awake.

 

_12:30 pm_

When they return from their walk, both Marius and Cosette are frozen to the bone and immediately deposit their coats at the door and ran as fast as they could for the couch. Marius lays down first and pulls Cosette on top of him, draping both blankets that live on the couch over them, snuggling into them to try to gain some sense of feeling in their limbs. As he adjusts and rearranges them, Cosette sneaks her icicle hands under his shirt, trying to warm them on his stomach, making him jump. She laughs and starts pressing little kisses against his jaw, until he is done fussing with the blankets and turns his attention to her. “Hi,” he whispers staring into her clear blue eyes. She just smiles in return and kisses him. Ten minutes later, they are asleep, exhausted from shivering and comfortable in their blanket cocoon entwined in each other’s arms.

 

_1:00 pm_

Eventually, Feuilly decides they need to deal with this issue now, so he meanders out into the living room where he knows Bahorel is watching television—he has the volume up so loud the whole building can probably guess what show he is watching. Bahorel is lying on the couch, sprawled out on his stomach and he resolutely does not look at Feuilly when he comes in the room and instead begins gripping the remote so hard, Feuilly is scared he is going to smash it to pieces. “Hey,” he begins, but Bahorel just grunts. Feuilly sighs and deposits himself on his large roommate, his lean body resting on Bahorel’s protesting frame.

Bahorel reaches onto his back trying to extract Feuilly from him, swatting at him, like he is a bug, “Get off,” he grunts and it is barely an acknowledgement of Feuilly’s presence, but he will take what he can get.

“We need to talk,” Feuilly insists, squirming out of the way of Bahorel’s searching hands.

The larger man freezes underneath him and wriggles so that he is in his original position on the couch, Feuilly still on top of him, “No we don’t—nothing to talk about—said I was sorry.”

Feuilly slides off his back and maneuvers so that he is between Bahorel and the television, forcing him to look at him, “Look—I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s not that I don’t _like_ this, but, I don’t know, it’s just confusing, I guess. You’re my roommate and my best friend—I don’t want to mess with that,” he admits and then Bahorel is looking at him with a bit of the usual glint returning to his eye.

He grabs Feuilly by the shoulder and drags him in for a hug, “I don’t either, of course, you idiot,” he says, “and trust me it won’t—you’re stuck with me, even if we’re not fucking.” Now Bahorel is grinning maliciously at Feuilly and he knows that he is going to pay for his earlier freak out, as Bahorel roughly grabs his neck and begins biting the tender skin there _hard_. After a moment, Feuilly forgets why he found this arrangement confusing at all as his hand slips out to grab violently at Bahorel hip.

 

_1:30 pm_

Its afternoon before Musichetta stirs. Joly and Bossuet have long abandoned their homework and instead have turned up the volume on the television and are flipping between The Food Network and HGTV critiquing restaurants and the people trying to buy homes in the limelight.

Musichetta wakes up with a kick in Bossuet’s lap that is close to being disastrous, causing him to whine and scoot away from her. She sits up and Joly kisses her good morning (“or good afternoon at this point,” Bossuet mutters) and she prances into kitchen, coming back with three bagels and the container of cream cheese. Bossuet and Joly greedily snatch the offered food, having been starving for the past several hours but having not gotten up to eat, for they did not want to disturb Musichetta.

The three munch on their afternoon-breakfast in silence. When they are finished Musichetta stands and takes each boy by the hand and drags them to the bedroom, where the three end up in a wrapped up in each other, twisted beneath the sheets. Musichetta’s body straddles both Joly and Bossuet, who lie next to each other. All three are whispering endearments all at once as they cuddle the afternoon away.

_3:00 pm_

Having relocated his homework endeavors to the couch, Enjolras sits trying his best to pay attention to the words in his political science textbook, while Eponine and Grantaire play a card game on the coffee table in front of him. Not that he really has any interest in the game—it is some game that involves quick movements, slapping card decks, and cries of “spit!”—but he does have much interest in the two people playing it; two people who keep shooting him, what he thinks are supposed to be suggestive looks between each round of their game. Having been watching the progression of their game for a few minutes, Enjolras does not miss Grantaire’s eyes sweeping down the length of his body, and when he brings his gaze back up and level with Enjolras’, Enjolras has to gulp at the intense lust he sees in his eyes. As he does, Grantaire chuckles and turns back to his game.

Not enjoying being mocked, Enjolras throws a pillow at his head and turns back to his book. He has found, much to his dismay that ever since the three of them have gotten together, his Saturday homework productivity has decreased to pretty much nil. He can resist their advances, comments, and desire-filled gazes for only so many days in the week. Usually on Saturdays, the three of them ended up back in bed together before the afternoon was out, and it looked like today was not going to be any different.

Making the executive decision that it was okay to give up doing homework and allow the pull these two lazy, loveable souls had over him to take its hold, Enjolras puts his book to the side and sinks off the couch to sit in-between them. Eponine throws her hands up in the air scattering her playing cards as she squeals, “Yay! We cracked the homework bubble!” Grantaire pulls him in for a fierce kiss, lips smashing together, Eponine watching them as her eyes glaze over and her lips part slightly. Then, she is pulled into middle of the boys, with a hand on each of their chests and they each wrap an arm around her, all three melting together.

 

_4:30 pm_

As the sun starts to head down in the sky, Jehan and Courfeyrac are still entwined, sans clothing, in their pile of blankets. The only time they had moved all day was when Jehan had gotten up to grab snacks and Courfeyrac had pulled out their favorite movies and they had returned to the blankets and watched Disney movies all afternoon.

Now Jehan is sitting between Courfeyrac’s legs, propped up against his chest, dozing. Granola bar wrappers and empty Gatorade bottles encircle them, lying on top of their discarded clothes that still surrounds the fort. As the credits of _Aladdin_ roll, Courfeyrac looks down at the boy who is half asleep in his arms. He pulls him a bit closer, hugging him tighter, wishing he did not have to get up. But they were meeting their friends in an hour and everyone else would probably appreciate it if they show up dressed. So Courfeyrac gently begins kissing his way up Jehan’s neck to his ear. He begins to stir as Courfeyrac whispers, “We need to get up.”

Jehan slightly shakes his head and keeps his eyes squeezed shut, “Five more minutes,” he begs, snuggling back into Courfeyrac’s chest.

Courfeyrac grins, “Okay,” he relents and burrows his head back into the crook of Jehan’s neck.

 

_5:30 pm_

_“Adam looked up with sick weariness. His lips parted and failed and tried again. Then his lungs filled. He expelled the air and his lips combed the rushing sigh. His whispered word seemed to hang in the air:"Timshel!" His eyes closed and he slept”._

Combeferre shuts his finished book with a satisfied sigh and places it on the table. He loved losing track of the day and working his way through a good novel. But, reading for close to twelve hours does have its downsides. He is stiff as he stands, stretching his arms over his head, all of his joints cracking violently. And he is hungry, but he does not have time to eat, he realizes as he glances at the clock. “Shoot,” he mutters.

He moves around the apartment, hastily picking up things that are lying out of place. He lovingly places his new favorite book, back on the packed shelf in the corner of the living room and rushes to change into fresh clothes. As he emerges from his bedroom, the door bell rings.

He opens the door to his friends who come streaming into the apartment, ready, and on time for once, for their weekly movie night. Courfeyrac shoves _Titanic_ into Combeferre’s hand to be popped into the DVD player, as Cosette whips out her phone to order pizza. Bahorel and Grantaire groan at the choice of movie, but they shut up once Feuilly comes in from the kitchen and tosses them each a beer.

Everyone situates themselves as best they can around the small room and focuses on the television. Saturday days might be for relaxing, but Saturday nights were for friends and making memories, Combeferre thinks as he looks around the room and feels his heart swell at the site of all the people he loves best crammed into his tiny living room.

As much as he loves reading and learning, he knows this is where he belongs—tucked into the corner of the couch, next to Enjolras, discussing books, as everyone else moans and throws stuff at them to shut up  and quit disrupting the movie.

It does not matter that everyone else is grouped off into couples now, both in the abstract and also quite literally as all the couples are snuggled up with each other like, even after spending the whole day together, as Combeferre knows they had, they cannot be parted. Even Enjolras has an arm around Eponine, who is tucked into his side, and his hand is placed on Grantaire’s shoulder, as he talks to Combeferre.

It really does not matter that he is the odd man out, and he never really _feels_ like he is. He loves his friends more than anything—even more than his books—and he knows they love him in return. 


End file.
